


Say Yes

by livrelibre



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Bathing/Washing, Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 13:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2271993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livrelibre/pseuds/livrelibre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam, big nerd that he was, found the ritual they needed for this in a manuscript written by an order of monks on their practice for submission before God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Yes

**Author's Note:**

> I started this ages ago for Kink Bingo for the washing/cleaning square, before I stopped watching the show so S5ish.  It's pretty clear I'm never going to finish it but here's the first bit  which stands alone FWIW.

Sam, big nerd that he was, found the ritual they needed for this in a manuscript written by an order of monks on their practice for submission before God. He’d seen references to the original in some obscure articles and luckily managed to find a copy in an archive in the States. The hunt they’d been following finally led them to a typical motel bathroom with cracked linoleum and a rusty edged mirror. Story of their lives.

Dean filled a shallow stone bowl with a mix of blessed oil and herbs while Sam turned off the tub’s hot water tap, silencing the rushing sound that filled the small space and leaving Dean with only the beating of his heart in his ears. Wafts of steam gathered ghostly around them and the humid air filled his lungs. Sam lit the candles on the ledge of the vanity and turned off the overhead lights, the final steps in preparation that had been going on since they knew they were committing to the ritual. Mindful of the vow of silence in place until they started speaking the words of the ritual, Dean just barely suppressed the “Calgon take me away to Bed, Bath and Beyond” joke on the tip of his tongue, but Sam’s bitchface when he turned around said he’d seen on his face anyway.

Dean shivered slightly, though the air was warm and wet on his naked skin. In Boston a month back, they had gone to a tattoo parlor and added to their ink. Sam, equally bare in candlelight and shadow, looked like a different creature with the new black lines of Enochian sigils tracing over his chest and arms inverse to the ones etched on his ribs. Dean flashed back to Sam in the chair, stretched out and taut under the buzzing assault of the tattoo gun. Dean had similar sigils inscribed on him, a calling and a binding and a praise and a bowing down, unspoken as yet but there.

They’d fasted for days (Dean bitching by rote about the lack of pie and alcohol) and now they had to finish cleaning each other inside and out. Bound by silence, Dean couldn’t joke like he wanted to, voice overly loud in the confines of the small motel bathroom, defusing the tension. The space between them filled up with the weight of what they were doing, and he startled when Sam put his hands on him. They had seen each other in every situation, had their hands on each other in all ways, were no strangers to each others blood, sweat, semen, tears. But Sam with an enema kit in his hands felt unbearably intimate. Dean closed his eyes and let everything fall away, feeling only the charge of letting Sam tend to him like this, along with the warm water from the enema, holding in words like the water, feeling them press on his insides like a balloon, hearing only his and Sam’s deepening breath, the drip of water from the tap, and the small noises he could hardly hold in, and then letting it all rush away, leaving only silence and Sam’s hands on him. Dean, as always, did the same for Sam, who held silence and depths in him as a rule but seemed as clean, at peace and on the same page afterward.

They carried that silence with them as Dean set out the razors and shaving things by the bath. Dean took the washcloth first and drew it slowly over Sam’s skin, foot to head, transfixed by the way the hair on his legs lay flat in one direction, the slightly astringent smell of the shaving cream and the slow sweep of the razor baring Sam’s skin in swatches. The slow rhythm of swab, lave, scrape and sweep revealed the vulnerable flesh of Sam’s body, clean, hairless and new, despite the scars. Sam held still even as as Dean reached the tender places behind his knees, in the crooks of his elbows, at the nape of his neck and behind his ears. Dean had thought it couldn’t get any more intimate until he handed the razor over to Sam. Each sweep of the razor over newly sensitized skin sent shivers through him. Dean fell into a kind of trance, broken only when Sam gave a final sweep of the cloth over his body and pulled him into the waiting warm bath where they submerged themselves and rose again, new and dripping. Now they knelt before each other, and Dean--clean, bare, open, flawed, beloved--let everything but his brother sink away as they started the ritual.


End file.
